Teddy
by Child of a Broken Dawn
Summary: Natalie recalls a Christmas memory from her childhood, one that makes her doubt what she's always taken for granted. Rating for mild swearing.


**A/N: **Wow, my first N2N fic; it's kind of a daunting fandom. The story behind this one is complex, so I'll leave it for the end. I don't own any of the characters except the teddy bear.

* * *

It's been eleven years, but I still remember the only Christmas present you ever gave me.

I was six; it was maybe two weeks before the actual holiday. Grandma and Grandpa were in town and staying with us. I could hear them chatting downstairs, the clink of glasses and the babble of small talk. Mom, thank god, was at least trying to act semi-sane for their benefit.

Why am I telling you this? You were probably there. And now I sound completely crazy. Just great. If this is how therapy works- and I still maintain I don't need it- it seems counterproductive. I'm the only sane person in this family; now some doctor wants to make things worse?

That's a sad reflection on this family. But regardless, this journal won't fill itself.

Anyway, after having been exiled upstairs, I'd ensconced myself in my room to play Barbies. The grown-ups' conversation wasn't interesting, anyway, not when there were sparkly dresses to be changed and silky, synthetic hair to be brushed. But when I opened my closet to pull out the plastic bin of dolls, something caught my eye.

The box of plush animals has always been there; it had even then. Shoved in the corner of the closet like an embarrassing relative that wouldn't go away. Mom had told me once that they were yours. Not like that, though, not in the past tense. Present- "_they're_ your brother's." That was right before she tried to drag them back out, and Dad came in and started shouting, and she ended up collapsing on the floor.

Thanks, from the bottom of my heart, for a lovely childhood.

Wait, no, I'm not supposed to blame you. According to the therapist, that's bad. It's nobody's fault things ended up like this. Tragedies just happen, and we all cope with them as best we can.

But it didn't happen to me. _You_ didn't happen to me, so why should I have to-

[large scribble]

I knew the furry limbs and ears sticking out of the box by heart. The gray-and-white mouse, an exact copy of one I'd later learn was buried with you. The huge black bear with a dopey smile on his muzzle. More light tan teddies like the ones that had been passed down to me. They sat on a shelf in my room, gathering dust. Mom started yelling once when I tried to play with them, because they were your toys and not mine.

But one bear, lying just beyond the box, was unfamiliar. Pretty small, but it looked large to me then; a tartan bow was looped around its neck, in Christmas red and green.

I turned it over cautiously. There was an FAO Schwartz tag sewn to one leg, of the "washing instructions" variety, but no other identifying marks. Even racking my little brain as hard as possible, I couldn't place it.

Clearly this was a problem for a grown-up. Clutching my prize, I ran into the hall and down the stairs, my Mary-Janes clacking against the hardwood. We were going out for lunch later, and Dad had hinted that Santa might be at the mall for me to take a picture with, so I was dressed to the nines.

The company around the table looked up with indulgent smiles; they stopped talking as I approached, and lowered their iced tea glasses.

"Hey, Nat!" Dad smiled at me. Mom did her best to follow suit. "Whatcha got there?"

He gestured to the bear, which I reluctantly handed over. "Thanks for early Christmas, Daddy."

But when I stretched up to kiss his cheek like a good little girl, he frowned and pulled away slightly. "Sweetheart, I didn't get this for you. Where did you find it?"

"In my closet." Even then, I began to realize something was off.

The little bear went around the table, both Grandma and Grandpa denying knowledge of it. They weren't half-smiling like grown-ups did when they told lies, so I believed them. Dad just looked at Mom, his expression more and more troubled by the minute. And when my new toy at last reached her hands, she smiled for real.

"No, I didn't buy it," she said, and handed it back to me. "It must be an early present from your brother." Still smiling, she rose and started towards the stairs.

"Where is that boy? I told him to be down here in time to come with us- _Gabe!_"

And she was gone again, shouting up to her precious golden boy. My- our, I guess- grandparents started shifting in their chairs, asking if perhaps we should do this another day and wasn't it getting a bit late for lunch after all?

It was the first time I saw Dad cry.

That bear is somewhere in the closet still, where I stuffed it in the box. I never wanted to see it again. Hell, I don't even remember which one it was. There are lots of mangy old teddy bears with glassy eyes and tartan ribbons in there. And Mom probably snuck it in there just so she could have her perfect Christmas.

Sometimes, though, I can't help but wonder if she really did. Just like the times I think I hear someone calling my name when I'm alone, or catch a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of my eye.

Sometimes I wonder if you're really as gone as I thought.

* * *

**A/N:** So, backstory. When I said I own the teddy bear, I mean that literally. This is based on a true event.

One of the reasons I love N2N is that the whole Gabe thing hits kind of close to home; my brother died the year before I was born, at 13 months old. I was raised to deal with it differently than Natalie, thank heaven, and the reactions to this bear were much more positive than in the story. I've always wanted to explore her relationship with Gabe, so...yeah. This story happened. :)


End file.
